The First Fairy Tale, or How Misa Lost Her Little Thumb

Sometimes the kids would beg: "Dad, add one more word." "It’s not fair that Luky has an extra word…" Well, I think three is plenty. But then, when the kids started to understand that they could challenge me with this, they’d come up with tricky combinations during the day to make it harder. Like, "hen-harvester-star" was fine, but "astronaut-kimono-heart" – that was quite a tough one. But I think I always managed to handle it well.

“Add some wisdom sneakily, and it works like magic.”

How Misa Lost Her Little Thumb

I always tried to put some kind of wisdom into the story so it would make sense and be a bit educational. Not something like, “If you tidy up in the evening, you’ll be a better person…” because I think the kids would see right through that. It was always a bit sneakier, and I think kind of nice too.

I still remember my first story to this day. It was for Misa. She didn’t pick the words yet, so I chose them myself: Misa-friends-thumb. Clear vision, clear goal. I know every parent deals with a little accident at preschool now and then—shoves, bumps, or tiffs. Not talking about a serious injury, just the classic argument: “Veronica isn’t my friend anymore, now it’s Ella,” and the next day, it’s the other way around. Everyone knows how it goes.

So, I came up with a clever story about a little lost thumb on Misa’s left foot. This thumb decided to go off into the world because it was tired of hanging out with the other four finger friends. One day, it just disappeared. Great topic. Now imagine the fuss the next morning when poor Misa wakes up, jumps out of bed, and—thud! She’s surprised and looks around, wondering why she fell, when that’s never happened before. As she sits there on the carpet, staring at her feet, she realizes something’s missing. Her left foot is missing its thumb. “Maaamaaaa, my thumb is gone!” she cries. Mom rushes in and, yep, it’s true. They look for the thumb under the blanket, under the pillow, in the toys, but it’s nowhere to be found. “Did you swallow it, Misa?” asks Mom. “No, it wouldn’t taste good, it’s on my foot and it’s dirty, that’s obvious, Mom.” And so, one day, Misa lost her thumb.

Meanwhile, what was the thumb from Misa’s left foot up to? It was happily strolling through the forest, eating a blueberries, jumping around and goofing around. It was singing to itself: “I’m living the life, ha! I’m living the life, ha! No one’s bossing me around, no one’s gossiping about me, I’m happier on my own. I’m living the life, ha!” Ants are stepping aside, snails are staring, birds are chirping, and pine cones are rolling out of its way. And so, the thumb is walking through the forest world, proudly declaring everywhere that it doesn’t need anyone, not even the other toes on its left foot.

And what about the little toe, ring, middle, and index finger on the left foot? “It’s good he’s gone, that show-off. He always wanted to decide which way we go and never cared about us.” “Exactly, he always thought he was first in line, that everything had to go his way.” “It’s good he’s gone, we don’t miss him at all,” grumbled and squeaked the other four toes.

So, it seemed like everything worked out. Misa didn’t need to go to preschool or outside, she could stay in bed because she kept limping and falling. The thumb was discovering the world and was the happiest alone, because no one yelled at it or envied it. The remaining four toes could finally do whatever they wanted and cause a bit of mischief. But it wasn’t as golden as it seemed after a while.

A week later, Misa started missing her preschool friends, and she couldn’t stand looking at candy or the TV. She wanted to run properly, but because she was missing her main toe, the thumb, on her left foot, it was impossible. She kept limping and falling, so she hid at home, embarrassed. Mom and Dad felt really bad, and the mood at home was pretty down.

The little toe, ring, middle, and index finger just stayed silent. They missed the fields, the buzzing of bees, and the cracking of pine needles in the forest when Misa would run around barefoot, shouting with joy. Now, the toes just laid in bed or rested on the chair with her left foot and didn’t run anywhere. They missed their thumb so much.

And what about the thumb? It had walked all over the forest, crisscrossing through it, and now it was lonely. It missed its friends. No one paid attention to it, everyone avoided it, so it just sat there, hiding under an old moss-covered wood, sniffling. One starry night, it decided to return. So, tired and panting, it ran all the way back across the forest to the cottage, climbed through the open window into Misa’s room, sneakily crawled under the blanket, grabbed the familiar left foot, and fell asleep from exhaustion.

The next morning, Misa woke up, scared she would fall again. She put her feet on the floor… “Maaaama, I’m running again!” she shouted, racing around the room, unstoppable. Mom and Dad ran in after her and saw her running just like before, catching her up in their arms. They looked at her left foot and screamed with joy, “You’ve got your thumb back, Misa!” “Oh, yeah, it came back!” Misa cheered, so loudly the whole house heard. She could run through the fields and the forest again and meet her friends.

And what about the toes of the left foot in the evening? After Misa had spent the whole day running and jumping, now relaxing under the blanket and rubbing her toes together in her sleep to make sure none of them were missing, they whispered: “It’s so good you’re back, thumb, we missed you so much,” said the toes softly. “I missed you too,” said the thumb. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world, you’re my best friends. So, come on, I’ll tell you all about the world and tomorrow, I’ll take you there.”

It’s really sad in the world when a person or a little finger loses their friends. It’s one of the most precious things in the world, even if they’re sometimes annoying or grumpy. And even if they won’t let you have any ice cream. Forget about it, as long as you have them.

That was my very first fairy tale, based on three words.

Good night.